Vigil
by The Wayfaring Strangers
Summary: A series of short stories about the Elric brothers. Lots of angst, friendship, and character interaction. Chapter three: a short gap filler set between episodes 42 and 43 of Brotherhood, starring May and Al.
1. lemon yellow

He is reaching for Al again. A wooden floor glinting under the unnatural light, the alchemical lightning crackling around him like a terrible halo, his brother's scream: it is all the same, that familiar moment when everything came apart. Ed screams himself, stretching out his right arm. But no, that's not right – where skin should be steel and chrome wink up at him and a dull pain burns in the port in his shoulder. _Automail? Already?_

Ed strains against the agony eating up his right leg and for a wild instant, he thinks he might just grab Al this time. His brother's eyes flash, he screams his name above the crackling energy, but even as he reaches for Al's hand, the automail explodes. An Ishvalan face, contorted by rage and a terrible scar – Ed hears himself scream, scrambles backward, but now Scar is between himself and Al and Ed is still too far away. Another flash of light and this time it's his brother's iron body which shatters across the bloody array.

 _That isn't right, it isn't!_

One of Al's pauldrons catches him across the chest and he staggers backward. The wind leaves him and he gags and wretches. Pulling himself to his knees, Ed looks wildly around the room for Scar, Al, anyone – because now he is face to face with Truth and his shoulder and thigh are on fire and shadowy hands claw at him and it's far too late for Mother this time and _what was I thinking?_

"Pay," Truth says, "pay for your transgression."

Ed wants to scream that he has, they've both paid up for years, and isn't that enough? But the words stick in his throat and he coughs again and the room is too bright and he screws up his face and – and –

And when Al's voice wakes him, Ed's hands shake and he wants to scream at something and maybe hide his face in the thin, scratchy blanket. Yellow as a cat's eye, lamplight streams through a narrow window to illuminate a shabby inn room. It glints on Al's helmet and his own metal arm, still shaking.

Al does not ask and Ed says nothing, only pausing to scrub his flesh hand across his eyes. Outside, a clock sounds somewhere far away. It's still so early yet and the world outside their window is fast asleep. _ He can wait a few more hours to drag himself out of bed in search of a new lead, likely as counterfeit as the last.

 _What else am I supposed to do?_

"Brother," Al says, "Brother, are you alright?"

Ed wants to say that he is, that he has to be, because if it isn't what in the heck are they going to do? But his throat feels dry and scratchy and all he can see is Al's body flying into a hundred pieces and his shoulder hurts again and – and –

And the bed creaks where Al sits down next to him. His metal and leather joints creaking, he settles heavily, like an old man.

But Al's voice is terribly young when he asks, "What's wrong, Brother?"

And Ed doesn't know what to tell him, because they both know it was that dream and what good will all the gory details do his little brother? But Ed can't leave Al waiting and when he tries to speak his voice cracks horribly.

"I'm ok." Ed is blinking furiously by now, while his eyes shine and burn. All this and he can't cry, because Al couldn't cry even if he wanted to. And he has, Ed has heard it in his voice.

"You don't sound ok."

Al shakes his great head and a heavy arm falls on Ed's shoulders. Ed is suddenly very tired and so he lets Al arrange him against a cold metal shoulder and tuck the abominably thin blanket around him. The clock chimes again, sounding so distant that it might have come from another world. For a moment, Ed is content to think in the back of his mind that this narrow room in a rundown inn is its own tiny world where nothing can trouble them for a few more hours.

The lumpy mattress squeaking under him, Ed turns his face into his brother's chest. Al is a solid presence behind him and his shoulder aches terribly. The morning will be bad as anything, Ed knows that, but he closes his eyes and drifts and he could swear he can feel Al's fingers running through his hair. Ed is not a baby and he will not permit himself to be held and comforted like one, but maybe this is alright. Just for a little bit.

When morning comes, Al lets him sleep past dawn. The light of the morning paints the walls a different shade of yellow entirely, and if Ed's eyes are sticky with salt, Al says nothing about it.

"Brother. Brother, you have to get up now."

He groans, but doesn't move. Ed's shoulder aches cruelly and he has to pry his eyes open. Ed finds that he is laying down again and Al is sitting across from him…. Which means his brother moved him in the night. Like a child that has fallen asleep in some odd place. A crease appears between Ed's brows and his breakdown hangs in the air between them. Neither speaks of it.

When Ed finally stands, the room tilts around him for a second, but he stays upright. It's going to be a long day; he knows this. Shadows circle his eyes like bruises, almost accusing him in the dirty mirror. It's already a be-grateful-you're-staying-on-you-feet-day. Splashing icy water on his face, Ed tries to wake up. But he can't shake the tired and he can't hide his exhaustion from the lemon-yellow light of morning.

As he rebraids his hair, Ed does his best to ignore the ominous way ihs automail clicks and whirs. Nothing sounds more comforting than Granny's dry chuckle and Winry's smile – flying wrenches and all – but how can he come back to them in such a state, and no further toward their goal?

Behind him, Al finishes retying his apron and curls up in a patch of sunlight. Ed thinks of cats almost in spite of himself – but no cat bears as many pits and scratches as mark Al's steel body. _No, don't think of what Al would look like now in his right body. No, don't try to calculate the lifespan of an old armor suit._ This day is not going to be one in which Ed is strong enough for those thoughts, he can already tell.

"Brother, are you finished?"

Ed jerks a little and he wrenches too hard on the faucet of the sink, almost like he had back when the automail was new and painful all the time and he didn't know his own strength. The floor groans underneath Al's iron feet, just like the sink shivers when Ed slams down the measly bar of soap.

"Yeah, Al," he says, "let's go."

What he thinks is _, this room is fragile. Just like us._

The blanket from last night looks even more threadbare now and though Ed hadn't bothered to fold it, it lies in a neat heap atop the bed. Honestly, Al is like a fussy housewife sometimes. Ed walks over the threshold without looking back, because he knows Al is right behind him. The brothers Elric are far from whole, but they will have to be enough. Al's armor shines dully in the sunlight, as if painted a pale yellow. Like his hair should be. The clear, unhurried light of morning floods Ed's senses as they leave the inn and his eyes sting again. The automail arm hangs solid at his side and the dregs of last night's dream are all but gone. Until tomorrow, and the next night, and the one after that.

"Brother," Al says, pointing to the eastern horizon, "isn't it beautiful?"

Ed grunts. The sun hurts his eyes and his throat is suddenly so thick that he can't force out a proper response. _Fragile, that's what you are_ , he hears in his head. And he feels fragile because part of him wants to give up this (hopeless) quest and go home to Resembool. But Ed knows that without his own forced determination, Al would give up on his body and spend the rest of his unnatural lifespan a walking pile of empty steel.

And.

And Ed remembers Mother saying that to love someone was to give up yourself for them.

But if he has to fall down again every night and get up again every morning, it's what Ed will do, until he can make things right for Al.

If he has to be so _fragile_ that he wants to scream and break things and curl up into a little lump and never move, he'll bear it.

Til he sees the yellow morning light shine on eyes and hair instead of steel.

* * *

 _Hello friends! It's been a couple of years, but for some reason FMA shook loose some plot bunnies. This story will more or less follow Manga/Brotherhood canon. I have another chapter and a half written after this, so updates may be semi-regular. This will be a series of non-chronological one-shots, but some overarching themes should connect them. Thanks for reading and I'd love to hear your thoughts on my first Fullmetal Alchemist fic. :)_

 _-Celt_


	2. in a fairy tale

_This chapter is set shortly after Mustang recruits Ed to the Military._

* * *

Al is crying again. Well, he's not crying with his eyes and his tear ducts because he doesn't have any of those anymore (which is Ed's fault, Ed's fault, Ed's fault). But he's crying with his voice and his shoulders. He must think Ed's asleep and can't hear him. As if, with the way Ed's thigh is aching. With the rain pouring down like it is, Ed doesn't have a particularly good chance of getting a full night's sleep. And that's not even mentioning how his shoulder's feeling at the moment.

Ed rolls over, trying to ignore the rattling sound of his little brother's shoulders shaking from where he kneels across the room. He wants to help Al of course – Al's his baby brother, dang it! – but what can he do? It's not like Ed is innocent in Al's predicament. Ed has to clamp his lips together to stopper up the acrid laughter bubbling in his throat. Surely Al must hate him now.

As Ed rolls over, he chances a peek in Al's direction. Then wishes he hadn't because his baby brother is hunched in on himself and the moonlight shines like tears on his empty face. Swearing to himself, Ed rolls himself on out of bed and onto his Automail leg. Which still hurts, by the way. Al must hear the clank, because he goes still and looks up with an awkward jerk.

"Hey, Al, listen," Ed starts, but his voice cracks and what in the heck was he going to say, anyway?

"What is it, Brother?" Al is not _allowed_ to sound that defeated and sad.

"Nothing…. I just, well, my leg hurts like a b-"

"Brother!"

"Geez, Al, it hurts a lot, ok? No need to get all bent out of shape about my vocabulary."

Al huffs a little, and he's starting to sound more like himself. Ed figures that has to be a good sign and presses on. "I just-"

"I'm sorry." And now Al sounds like crying again. Ed swears to himself again. Can't he do anything but make it worse?

"It's ok, Al." Ed feels very tired all of the sudden. He wants to ask if Al is ok, but the words stick in his throat because he knows the answer.

"I'm scared," Al says.

And, "I'm sorry," again. It seems like that's all Al ever says anymore. As if he has anything to apologize for.

His voice and the pitch of shoulders make Ed want to cry, as though he had any right to cry. Ed limps his way across solid wooden floor boards to his little brother and drops down beside him. His mouth flaps soundlessly for a minute while his right arm hovers awkwardly, because what in the heck is he supposed to do?

Ed's not like Mom, he's not kind and gentle like her – like Al – and he never knows what to say or do to make it better. Words form in his throat, but they taste like sawdust. His hands flutter uselessly around Al's head and shoulders like the moths at the back-porch light. He freezes when Al turns to look (down) at him.

A moment of terribly awkward silence ensues.

Then Al makes a rattling sound that reminds Ed of an exasperated sigh, takes Ed's flesh hand, and sets it down on top of his helmet. Just like when they were kids and Ed would ruffle Al's hair because he wanted to show Al that he cared, but he didn't have the faintest idea of what to say. Mom used put her hand on Al's head too and Al would smile as big as he could, so it had to mean something, right?

Only now Mom's gone and Al can't smile anymore. Al is becoming blurry in front of him and Ed's eyes are stinging suspiciously. Ed swallows hard to force the tears back down his throat and lets his hand rest on his little brother's head. They sit like that for a while, a long while. Ed tries to say something three, maybe four times, but he can't for the life of him force the right words to come out.

 _It's ok._ Lies. It's not ok.

 _I'll make it better._ He's sure as heaven going to try, but Ed's not brave enough to pretend that he can fix it now or even sometime soon.

 _I love you._ It's true, the truest thing Ed knows, but how can he tell his baby brother he loves him after doing … _this_ to him?

"I'm not leaving you," he chokes out at last, because it is true and it doesn't make him feel rotten inside.

Al nods under his hand. "I'm not leaving you either, Brother."

The simple trust and affection in his voice make Ed want to punch himself, then hug Al as tightly as he can, and then curl up in a little lump and not move for a while. But he's not strong enough to punch himself properly (and if he did, who would be around to help Al?), hugging people isn't his strong suit, and he can't afford to become a lump at the moment. Because he's going to become a State Alchemist and save his brother. Just as soon as he can use his Automail to stand up strong on his own two feet again.

"I'm going to become a State Alchemist," he tells Al confidently, "and then—"

 _He's going to become a State Alchemist._ Ed sits up straight, nearly panicking. What's Al going to when he's off ….doing whatever it is that State Alchemists do?

"— I'll come with you," Al says, with just as much confidence (which he is surely faking, just as Ed was.)

About to argue, Ed bites his tongue. He is he to tell his brother what to do, after all this? Maybe if he'd listened to Al more in the first place and trusted less in himself, they wouldn't be in this awful mess to begin with. Rain drums dully on the roof and drives against the window. It sounds as dismal as Ed feels.

"Teacher trained me just as much as you," Al continues, oblivious to Ed's internal debate. "I can't become a State Alchemist because of – because of my body, but I'm big and strong now. I can help you."

The barest hint of a smile coloring his voice, Al closes his case with an irrefutable argument: "Besides, Mom always said you needed my wisdom to keep you out of trouble."

That's not quite what Mom said, but it's close enough for Ed. A voice in his head is whispering that Ed is going to hurt more people than himself, given his track record, but he tells it to shut up because Al is talking again, and Al does precious little talking now, so he's going to listen.

"I can't get hurt now," he's saying in a very small voice, "so I can protect you. And I look really scary, so no-one bad will bother us."

"Dummy! _I'm_ going to protect _you_. That's what Mom always told me to do." Ed's voice sounds a lot less commanding than he needs it to, and a lot more choked up.

"Well she always told me to look out for you, 'cuz you're a dummy too sometimes. So that's what I'm going to do." Al says it like there's no possible room for argument. Maybe there isn't.

But before Ed can even make his argument, Al stands up and reaches out a hand to him.

"Come on, you've got to get back to bed so you can train hard tomorrow."

Ed doesn't move. "But you were…" _Crying_. He can't make himself say it to Al, if for no other reason than that he would be horribly embarrassed to have been caught crying himself and doesn't want to inflict that on his brother. Outside the rain is gradually lightening up.

Al rattles his broad shoulders a little, as if shaking off something unpleasant.

"I'm alright now, Brother. You cheered me up."

Ed isn't sure if he should believe him, but he's also getting really tired. When he tries to get up his Automail aches from his awkward position on the floor so that he can hardly stand. When Al reaches down and lifts him effortlessly to his feet, he doesn't grumble and finds himself putting a steadying hand on his brother's arm.

Ed does, however, level a skeptical glare at his brother's glinting eyes.

And Al _laughs_. Ed hadn't even been sure that he could still laugh. "You don't have to look so suspicious. I really am better."

As Ed sinks back down into his bed, Al has the nerve to pull his covers up to his chin with hands more gentle than Ed knew possible for his unfeeling body. Ed nearly hides his face in the covers because he can't quite face Al's cheerful optimism. He was going comfort his brother up and now look what's happening: Al is taking care of him.

"Come on, Brother. Don't look like that."

Ed managed to force out a little chuckle of his own, and while it sounds wry and pained, it isn't fake.

"Thanks, Al. You don't have to fuss over me, you know."

And then Al laughs, again, _again_. "Go back to sleep. We're going to be the Elric Brothers and you're going to be a really great Alchemist and we're going to a quest like in the stories and someday we'll get our bodies back, too."

 _And it'll all be ok, someday._ Al makes the future sound so simple - a path laid out before their feet straight and unwinding, unshakable as a fairy tale.

But then again, Al himself almost looks like a knight from an old story, standing silhouetted against the moonlight in the window. It's the plume in his helmet that really does it, Ed thinks hazily. The pain flickering in his thigh and shoulder is slowly sinking to embers, now that a night wind has chased the rain far away.

"I look like a knight?" Al says softly and wonderingly.

Ed mentally repeats a sizable list of expletives before asking, "Did I say that out loud?"

"Mhm."

"Well- well, it's true." Ed's face burns red in the dark, but then Al makes a little pleased sound and settles down against the wall.

"You know, I always wanted to be a knight," he says and his voice sounds terribly content.

Ed frowns a little. "We're going to get your body back."

"I know, Brother, and believe me, I can't wait. But for now," his voice turns thoughtful, "for now I get to be stronger than I ever was before."

There's a hint of wonder in Al's voice and Ed doesn't know whether to feel a strange stab of relief or to shake his brother for trying to make his terrible plight seem like a good thing.

"So until we do, I'm going to work just as hard as you and get as strong as I can, too," Al declares, and there's that simple trust again than that everything will be alright.

Ed's not sure whether to chalk it up to Al's naitave or his unshakable spirit. But for now, he wants to believe. A tiny, near-hysterical laugh bubbles out of him.

"You'll be a knight and I'll be a mad sorcerer of steel and we'll go on wild adventures together. How's that sound, Al?"

Al's eyes are dancing sparks in the moonlight. "Will there be cunning villains to oppose us and noble allies to join us?"

"Of course, Al. That's what happens in all the stories."

He can't believe he's playing along with Al's flight of fancy, but it feels good to smile again. So he makes a grandiose and wholly unnecessary flourish with his arms.

"And don't forget about the fair princesses to rescue."

"Maybe one of them will see beyond my dark and forbidding exterior to fall in love with my perspicacious and noble soul," Al hypothesizes.

Ed snorts a little in the darkness.

"Then she can break my curse with the magic of True Love." If Al had eyelashes, he would probably be fluttering them obscenely.

A wicked grin appears on Ed's face. "Psshhh, you're too tall for any of them to kiss."

"She can stand on a stool," Al says primly. "You on the other hand, are a hero too short for any maiden to kiss."

Ed splutters for a moment, but before he can properly say anything, Al breaks in again.

"But what am I saying? What about Winry? No princesses for you!"

Laughing in delight, Al looks more cheerful than ever. Ed's splutters only grow in intensity.

But if being teased about his love life is the only price Ed has to pay for hearing that laugh, he'll gladly endure it. At last he gives an exaggerated sigh and turns wounded eyes on Al.

"Enough of this misery."

"Whatever, you say, o diminutive one."

This time Ed gives a sigh of great longsuffering and rolls over, but the smile remains on his face.

Al keeps silent vigil at his brother's back, eyes shining like sparks.

* * *

 _Here's the second chapter! I have at least one more chapter in the works, and we'll see what happens after that. Thank you for reading, and if you enjoyed it (or not!) please let me know. Reviews mean the world to me. See you next time!_

 _-Celt_


	3. one candle

_This story takes place between episodes 42 and 43 of Brotherhood,_ Signs of a Counter Offensive _and_ Bite of the Ant _, when May is attempting to teach Al Alkahestry._

* * *

"Sir Alphonse, you're not listening to your heart! Just turn off your brain and Feel! Feel the Dragon's Pulse!"

"I'm trying to, May!" Al shoots back, frustration running high.

She lets out a gusty sigh and flops back onto the cabin's dirt floor. She's probably cold, Al thinks, taking in the way she wraps her arms around herself and how Shao May curls into the fur at the collar of her coat. Not for the first time, he regrets his cold metal exterior. There's nothing that he can do to help them.

"I'm sorry, May. I just-"

"Wait!" May springs to her feet. "It's all the people stuck under the ground! Of course you can't feel it very well."

She clenches her small fists, her brows quirking down. Normally the sight of a girl her age becoming righteously indignant would be nothing more than endearing, but Al knows that an angry May is a lethal May. That said, her expression is still quite endearing. Then something flashes in her eyes and she looks down, scuffing her feet a little.

"Of course, your ….body probably makes it more difficult as well." She tugs on a braid in frustration while Shao May squeaks in alarm. "I'm a terrible teacher!"

"Wait – don't – of course you're not—" Al stammers, before collecting himself. "May, you're a fine teacher. You're just in a strange place and I'm a strange student."

 _Have a little patience with yourself_ , he chides inwardly.

"You're not strange! You're nice!" May protests.

Al sighs a little. "That's not what I meant. Just… I don't experience …things the same everyone else does, right? That makes teaching me something like Alkahestry a little strange."

May hrmphs. "I guess so." Then she sighs a little. "Why do you have to be so patient all the time?"

"May," Al stalls for a moment, "May…"

"What?" she snaps.

"I think you're sitting on your circle."

"Oh, for…." May scoots over and sighs, but she doesn't sound angry any more.

Shao May hops onto his shoulder and Al takes it as a sign that he is forgiven. Brushing dust from her coat, May sits up straight and turns to face him.

"Let's just try again," she says, a determined frown sprouting between her brows.

 **. . .**

It's much later that evening, when the sky has shifted from weak blue to bottomless black, that Al notices that May is favoring her right arm. She holds her spoon in the wrong hand at dinner and cradles her wrist in her left hand while they clean up the cracked earthen dishes. Al worries, but what can he do? He settles heavily against the wall of the run-down shack and watches Dr. Marco, Scar, and Zampano stitch together a plan to take down Envy.

It's an ambitious plan, perhaps a foolish one, and so ingenious that Al can't help but think of Ed's maniacal grin. Worry shivers through him at the thought of his missing brother, but there's nothing he can do for Ed other than play his part here. Al shifts a little and listens to the wind whistle through the cracks in the walls. It must be very cold here. He sits just on the edge of the weak circle of light thrown by the candles on the battered table around which half a dozen figures hunch.

"Do you think you can do it? Long-range Alkahestry traps?" Dr. Marcoh addresses May with a tight smile.

She looks very pale in the sputtering candle light. But when Scar puts a massive hand on her shoulder, her brows bend into that same determined frown.

"There should be enough snow. As long as I'm out of sight and we make enough circles before hand, I think it'll work."

She swallows hard and glances at Al. "I'll need your help though."

He nods and his armor creaks like old bones. May smiles then and sits down between him and Scar. Shao May settles on her knee and May scooches closer to him as the adults wrap up the plan and begin to drift off to bed. Dr. Marco extinguishes all the candles except one, causing the shadows to leap even higher on the walls.

A clanging, scraping sound fills the cabin as Jerzo and Zampano set up cots against the far wall. Dr. Marcoh, Yoki, and Scar are staying in another room, and May and Winry in another. No arrangements have been made for him and Al doesn't really mind – it's not as though he can sleep anyway. All the same, it's a little hard to fight off the waves of self-pity that press in against him. No-one here, except for a few of the Ishvalans, looks at him like he's the shambling hulk of metal that he surely appears as. And yet…

May makes a convulsive gesture with her hands, causing Al to look down at her. She looks …flustered in the candle light.

"What is it, May?"

She twists her hands together again for a moment. "I think I sprained my wrist a little this afternoon. It's not a big deal and it should heal by tomorrow, but …. I don't think I should take out my hair or it won't get better in time."

That May would have to take out her braids every night and re-braid them every morning had never occurred to Al. It would surely be uncomfortable to sleep on. He pauses, unsure of how to respond. Her hairstyle looks very intricate.

"Do… do you want me to take it out for you?"

May nods sharply, her movement like a bird's. Al thinks that maybe her face is flushed, but it's hard to tell in the flickering candle light. While shuffling around to sit in front of him, she avoids his gaze. Al waits for her to settle herself and then freezes in the middle of reaching for her braids.

"May, you know I can't feel anything, right?"

She turns to look at him. "You're gentle. I trust you not to hurt me."

Al is quite sure for a moment that if had a normal human body it would be hard to keep his voice steady and (unchoked-up) for a few moments.

But his voice remains level and steady. "I'll do my best."

Silence falls as he unworks the first of May's braids, save for Zampano's snoring across the room. The candle begins to gutter a little by the time he gets to the twin buns on the back of her head. Those are even more difficult to unravel than the braids but he finally manages it with some directions from May. Al can't help but wonder what her hair would feel like in his hands. It's so shiny and smooth in the candle light and he's pretty sure that he's never seen hair so long in his whole life. It probably smells good too…

Al shakes himself a little bit and tries to concentrate on undoing the last set of pins. At last he unravels the last coil and runs his hands through her hair a final time to smooth out any tangles. He wants to keep playing with her hair but he forces himself not to be weird.

"All done," he announces at last.

May makes a happy sound and turns to face him. Al is certain that if he had normal human skin he would be blushing like mad now because he's never seen anything as lovely as the way her hair cascades around her face in the candlelight. Her eyes look lovely and deep and he thinks he might be staring, just a little. Al looks down, feeling terribly embarrassed. He's a bodiless hunk of metal; he doesn't have any business thinking such things about her.

May looks a little embarrassed too, come to think of it. Al entering into such a personal task must have been rather awkward for her. He's nearly sure that she's blushing now.

"Thank you, Alphonse."

"You're welcome. Try to rest your arm, ok?

"Mhm."

Al doesn't think anyone has ever smiled at him quite like that. If he had a stomach, it would surely be filled with butterflies.

"You're going to do great tomorrow and I'll help you with anything you need," he says at last, because something has to be said. And it's true.

May seems to be blushing even more now. She gives another quick, decisive nod and gathers herself up.

"I should sleep. So should – oh."

"I'll be perfectly alright here. Go get some rest."

"If you say so."

"I do. Goodnight, May."

"Goodnight, Alphonse." May looks like she wants to say more, but then she scampers away, Shao May on her heels. Her hair flows behind her like a dark banner, shining madly in the last of the candle light. Al settles himself in for another night of sleepless vigil. The candle finally gives up its ghost and goes out, leaving the room in near darkness. Starlight paints the floor, but all Al can see is candle-light shining on black hair.

* * *

 _This chapter was a bit of self-indulgent fluff, I'll admit. I didn't really mean this as full on shipping, given the age of the characters, but there's definitely a mutual dynamic. I'd love to know your thoughts!_

 _Apologies for not including Ed, but he just ended up not appearing in this one. I don't have another chapter in mind at the moment, but if more ideas come to me, I'll write them. :) Thanks for reading!_

 _-Celt_


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